


It's All a Game

by kenopsiaa



Category: White Collar
Genre: Episode Related, Episode Tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 12:58:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7464174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenopsiaa/pseuds/kenopsiaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU to 5.13, where Neal starts to wonder if the FBI will ever let him go free, or if he must gain his freedom on his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's All a Game

Perspiration dripped from Neal's forehead down to his chin as he repeatedly swung at the red punching bag in front of him. His tender muscles were strained and sore after being at this for hours, but with each hard collision of his glove, he felt an ounce of tension release from his body.

It was two in the morning. Neal hadn't been able to sleep since his meeting with Peter earlier that afternoon, so after forcing himself to scarf down a portion of a rotisserie chicken, he'd grabbed his keys and boxing gloves and came here. The gym was in his radius, so it wasn't like Peter could say anything if he had a problem with Neal being out - even though it was technically illegal for him to be here since he wasn't a member. But, a while back he'd picked a key off an unsuspecting woman and made a copy, which allowed him to come and go as he pleased.

And for days like today when Neal was especially pissed off, the key really came in handy.

The lighting in the boxing room was minimal; save for a single emergency light directly above, the room was swathed in darkness, giving Neal the privacy that he rarely obtained these days. Everywhere he went, he was carefully monitored by the feds; every move he made, every place he visited was scrutinized so intently that sometimes Neal wanted to scream. They questioned him, they accused him, they thought the very worst of him _all the damn time_ and Neal was so tired of taking it. He took the insults, he took the hateful words... He even took the physical blows when Peter was especially pissed off at him. He took it, he took all of it every _single_ time, and never once did he complain or object or defend himself.

And despite all this, Peter was always the only one who vouched for him. He didn't jump to conclusions like the rest of them. He was always there to protect him from those who didn't believe in him, who didn't trust he was doing the right thing. But this time, Peter couldn't protect him. This time, Neal was being played by the higher-ups; he was a pawn in an excruciatingly long, intricate game of chess. That's all it was.

More or less, Peter had told him so. If Neal weren't so good at catching criminals, he'd have been thrown back in jail; but _because_ he was so good, the bureau didn't want to release him. It was all a game. That's all it had been, this whole time.

He jabbed harder at the punching bag, ducking his head for increased force. The extremity of his anger and frustration was such that he couldn't feel an ounce of fatigue after nearly four hours of fist-fighting this weighty, inanimate object. 

He could run.

If he really wanted to, Neal knew he could run from all of it. If he didn't, he would never be free. He'd either end up in jail, or working for the FBI permanently. And a life of restraint, a confinement to a two-mile radius, wasn't _meant_ for people like him. This wasn't the life he wanted; it wasn't the life he deserved. But, the higher-ups didn't have the same mindset that he did. They'd played him too many times, they'd given him false hope when there wasn't any, and Neal was so damn _tired_ of them playing with his freedom like it was a silly board game. 

It wasn't a game to him. It was his life they were toying with, his future. It was just a _game_ to them, and Neal wasn't so sure there was a way he could win this one without leaving this city and everyone in it behind. 

There was someone else here. Neal was aware of their presence the moment they set foot in this room; the slight shift in the atmosphere, the undeniable and all too familiar feeling that he was being watched.

He froze, though the punching bag still swung back and forth on its chain until the law of inertia slowed it to a stop. In the silence he racked his brain for a possible intruder. The security guard had left hours ago, promising to turn a blind eye and let him stay past closing time as long as everything was in place by morning; all of the lights were off in the entire gym, and he wasn't making any noise that would be heard outside of this room. And there was only one person who would check his tracking data at this hour...

"Peter."

His familiar outline flinched at being recognized. "Sorry, I didn't mean..."

"It's okay." He was panting from exertion as he unstrapped his gloves.

He stepped into view underneath the dim emergency light, his face tired and worn. Neal could tell he hadn't slept much, either. "You shouldn't be here."

From his gym bag, Neal brandished the piece of nickel silver that hung on a thin ribbon. "I have a key."

Obviously not in the mood for another petty fight with Neal, Peter sighed and shook his head. "Neal, can we talk?"

Still catching his breath, Neal nodded. "I'll change and meet you outside."

***

They ended up at a 24-hour diner that seemed like it hadn't seen a remodel since the mid-eighties. Seated at a corner booth beneath a flickering lightbulb, Neal was smart to order tea of a brand he knew and trusted while Peter grimaced over a cup of thin, instant coffee. 

He subtly pushed the mug aside, folding his hands on the sticky table's surface. "I know how upset you must be over this. I would be too, if I were in your place."

Neal lifted and submerged the tea bag to keep his idle fingers busy. "You think I deserve this, don't you."

Peter shook his head slowly. "What you deserve is your freedom. And what the FBI director did to you... It's not right. You shouldn't have to serve out the rest of your sentence just because the bureau doesn't want to lose you."

"I appreciate that, Peter, but your pity's not really a huge help to my situation."

He nodded in acknowledgement, dropping his gaze. "If you think about it, it's only a few more years..."

"But it's not," Neal countered. "They'll always say it will only be a few more years, but it's never going to end. They're just going to keep doing this to me, over and over - making up excuses to keep this damn anklet on."

"You don't know that," Peter replied, but even he didn't seem too sure of himself. 

"I do. They'll keep teasing my freedom, dangling it in front of me like bait, but they'll hold it just out of reach and yank it away completely when I start asking for it."

Looking at his expression, Neal knew Peter believed him, even if he didn't want to. "You have to trust the system, Neal, it will all work out. I know it."

Neal frowned, growing frustrated. Peter was in conflict with himself over this, Neal could see it right in front of him. "Damn it, Peter, when are you going to understand? The 'system' you believe so much in is the same system that would have kept you in prison for murder!" Accidentally gaining the young waitress's attention, Neal lowered his voice. "I stopped putting my faith in it a long time ago - right around the first time they failed to follow through on their promise to me. Right now, I can't trust anyone."

With his tea mostly untouched, he threw a couple bills on the table and left the diner in a seething rage. Sometimes, Peter's unwavering loyalty to the law really pissed him off.

The bell on the diner's door chimed a second time, a few moments later, signaling that Peter had followed him. "Come on, Neal, wait up," he called; and when Neal blatantly ignored him, "Don't do anything stupid - Neal!"

He'd said something similar to him earlier in a situation similar to this one. _Don't do anything crazy_ , he'd shouted after him following their meeting. Maybe Neal was wrong; maybe Peter automatically assumed the worst of him like everybody else. 

This whole time, all these years working with the bureau, Neal had been trying so hard to earn Peter's trust. It hadn't been an easy task, especially after all the setbacks they'd hit in the road, but he had seriously thought he'd started to make some progress. However, now that he thought about it, no one had believed he was capable of being good from the very beginning. He'd been working against all odds from the start. 

What a waste of time that proved to be. Nobody, not even Peter, had an ounce of faith in him, after all this time. They all expected him to relapse every chance he was given, and he was tired of living in that disappointment. So what was the point anymore? What was the point of trying to prove them wrong when all they would ever think of him as was a criminal?

 _You're a criminal. That's exactly what you are_. He would never forget Peter's words; they would always be there, haunting him, reminding him every second that he never believed him capable of reform. 

In the very back of his mind, he knew his time in New York was coming to an end. Neal Caffrey, convicted bond forger and FBI criminal informant, would soon cease to exist. Someone new would be born - a new name in a new place, a whole new life - with no ties to his past. Soon, this city and everyone in it would become just a memory.

It wasn't something he'd never done before, though. His whole life, Neal had been constantly changing his identity with every city he established himself in. After all, he didn't do well in one place for an extended amount of time. He thrived in the art of reinvention, transforming himself into someone completely different from the last. 

Despite this, his heart ached a bit at the thought of never seeing June again - or Sara, or Mozzie, or Elizabeth. Or Peter. He would have to leave this whole life behind, but he had no other choice.

He would have to burn the one name he'd kept for himself along with the life he'd created with it, and the realization broke him a little inside. 

 


End file.
